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Rh Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows,

Hurled the cedars light as lances.

"Lazy Kwasind!" said the young men,

As they sported in the meadow;

"Why stand idly looking at us,

Leaning on the rock behind you?

Come and wrestle with the others,

Let us pitch the quoit together!"

Lazy Kwasind made no answer,

To their challenge made no answer,

Only rose, and, slowly turning,

Seized the huge rock in his fingers,

Tore it from its deep foundation,

Poised it in the air a moment,

Pitched it sheer into the river,

Sheer into the swift Pauwating,

Where it still is seen in Summer.

Once as down that foaming river,

Down the rapids of Pauwating,

Kwasind sailed with his companions,